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caedun · 4 months ago

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A scroll was waiting for them at the Valdrakken inn, marked with a stylized flaming eye in green. "A non-cooperative Mo'arg didn't see the wisdom in an arrangement, burning the scroll will let you see the metaphysical thread of cursed blood I drew before it managed to evade me, hiding among the cisterns of Thaldraszus with time altered Legion backup. Deposit of five thousand gold is waiting for you in town's bank per our agreement under moniker 'Mr Hammer'. Happy Hunting."

Dutifully he followed the thread, ashes left in the fireplace of the Roasted Ram. He questioned the origin of the spell, but not the result; he was used to hunting in alien lands, but the severe magical presence of all five dragonflights and their kin left Valdrakken a loud and messy blur, making the pinpointing of demons a significant challenge. He had often considered that clever demons--and indeed, those from "Azerwrath" as it had been coined--would hide within the city's depths to avoid the presence and gaze of his brothers and sisters, and now he had proof.

He wrenched the iron cistern grate out of the stonework with a few practiced pulls, setting it gingerly to the side to be replaced later following a letter of apology to the city's managing body. Saevusia peered into the tunnel between the gap in his abdomen and arm, her face scrunching at the dark depths.

"I'm not accompanying you further, hunter. This space is too small as it is, and I will not be found pawing about in the city's backup water supply."

His gaze trailed the thread as she complained, his lips pursing as his jaw shift in thought. He turned to look down at his visaged companion.

"I did not ask you to attend me in this matter."

The black dragon's expression became fiery, as it oft did, and her green eyes widened. Caedun turned back to look into the cramped tunnel ahead of him.

"GOOD! Because I'm LEAVING!"

"Farewell. I will reconvene with you afterwards in the city; our patrol of Amirdrassil will begin after supper, as usual."

Saevusia's only further response was a snort of annoyance, and he heard and felt her transform back into her true shape and take wing into the Isle's blue skies. He let out a small exhale and briefly closed his eyes before setting off into the long wrought stone tunnel that led to the cistern waterways.

Zz'og twisted the final bolt into place and the perimeter detector hummed to life, the small dome atop it rotating lazily. He clicked the tips of his mechanical clamps together in satisfaction and tromped back towards the circular stone platform that he and his followers had made into a makeshift camp, the only area in the cistern they had found that wasn't ankle--or knee, depending--deep in water. He grumbled angrily as he sloshed through the liquid, suppressing the ever-present desire to turn it all into acidic felbat blood, a task so simple and effective he carried the components for the corrupt chemistry with him at all times.

Alas, Zz'og knew he would need to be calculating. He had accumulated a small force of Azerwrathian followers, but to be rash would draw the attention of the dragons too early, and then it would be all for naught. Already the Nethermancer had nearly been his end, and he knew there would not be another parlay with the warlock. Still, he would need to act soon.

The demons from the alternate timeline were far more feral and bloodthirsty than his own kin, their long-ago victory having sapped subtlety and stealth from their tactical repertoire. The aranasi could mostly follow orders, but Zz'og knew if they lingered too long, he would lose control of the sayaadi, eredruin, and others. If they could collect just one more cadre of demons from the time rifts, he would have a force substantial enough to leave this cursed place and abscond to the Blasted Lands.

"The southern tunnels are secured," Zz'og rumbled, setting his tools atop the dais, "what news from the rifts?"

"They have yet to reconnect to our timeline, but I have confirmation that there is a group of eager 'explorers' on the other side who are interested in your plans, headed by an Inquisitor and Observer," one of the aranasi replied.

"Good. We will hold here for now, but be ready to collapse camp and exit to the north on my command. Once we meet up with this secondary force, we will be leaving this island," Zz'og grunted, organizing his tools and adjusting the settings on several detectors and weapons.

"Be ready, be ready, be ready," came an annoyed chanting from behind him. Zz'og's face twisted into a fury which he smothered before turning to face Erwrath, a particularly bold and violent incubus had consistently been undermining him.

"You tell us to be ready, but nothing ever happens, Zz'og. You waste the potential of all these demons, cowering in this cistern like an IMP! We should be turning this water to fire, sacking this city and feasting on dragon flesh!"

Erwrath stomped closer to Zz'og as he spoke and some of the other demons watched them, mutters of agreement snaking around the edge of the dais. Zz'og grit his teeth, the clamps of his mechanical arm tightening and rotating.

"You are too used to the taste of victory, Erwrath. If you think yourself so mighty I invite you to go to Valdrakken's city square alone, and see just how much you feast before you are thoughtlessly turned into ash by the Azerothians. These are not the pathetic mortals you rule over in your world; they are worthy foes."

With that, Zz'og turned back to his devices. Erwrath's face turned red and his arms tensed, both fists tightening into weapons, lips curling back to reveal a mouthful of fangs.

Before their interaction could come to a head, something odd happened. A cloud billowed out of the southern corridor and began to fill the room rapidly, drawing confused sounds from the gathered demons. They rose to their feet and peered around, the muttering beginning to rise to a clamour as the hot fog rose above the water then to their ankles with little warning.

Steam?

Zz'og began to bark out an order when he was interrupted by the wailing of the southern sensor, confirming his concern: whoever was responsible for this steam cloud had detected the freshly-erected checkpoint and was obfuscating their approach.

"We have mere moments, you wretches!" the Mo'arg cried out, grabbing a massive slab of pig iron that roughly resembled a wrench, "Prepare for combat, stay close, and shut your mouths!"

The steam continued to billow into the cistern's central holding, hiding more and more of the room and darkening it considerably, lights only faintly visible in the thick cloud that now hovered about them. Zz'og grimaced and lowered into a combat stance, running through the permutations. The chatter of his cohort fell to whispers, and the sound of dripping and rippling water overtook them.

It had to be a wizard of some sort, either arcane or elemental; manipulating water like this was their kind of trick. With any luck one of their anti-magic demons would sniff the perpetrator out and end them quickly, even with the shroud in the way.

"Volz! Prepare the felhounds, we have some kind of magic-user and I want them--"

Zz'og's words caught in his throat as a sensation washed over him, one he had felt before and dreaded feeling in this small, enclosed space. An overwhelming pressure, the threat of eyes watching him that saw into him and through him, that perceived his three hearts accelerating in fear and his four lungs hitching on a breath.

"What the hell is that?!" came Erwrath's voice from behind him, the sayaadi moving alongside Zz'og with eyes wide and fangs bared, hands trembling.

"Illidari," Zz'og grunted, calming himself. He had, at least, familiarity enough with a demon hunter's presence and could shake off the prey fear they exuded, but one glance to the incubus let him know that the Azerwrathians did not have similar experience. If he panicked, they all would.

"We're leaving!" the Mo'arg roared, turning to face what he could see of his troops, "This location is compromised, gather what supplies you can and move for the northern exit!"

"COWARD!" Erwrath yelled in reply, pointing into the depths of the steam, "You would let some mortal creature disrespect you with this malignant aura, and then turn tail?! I'll not allow my pride to be tarnished by your weakess, Zz'og! Follow me if you wish for glory, Legion!"

Erwrath charged off into the steam cloud and several demons followed him, growling and roaring lustily as Zz'og spit curses at them, quickly collecting several of his whirring and screeching machines into a satchel.

The cheers and growls abruptly fell silent and then just as abruptly turned into screams and shrieks, the cloud of steam suddenly filled with flashes of hot fel energy that crackled and snaked through the billowing fog, the sounds of heavy impacts and wet crunches reverberating off the stone walls and travelling through the tunnels. For an eternity of seconds silence claimed the cistern again, punctuated by Erwrath's head, half-caved, bursting from the steam and landing with a muted slap on the dais.

Panic shot through the demon forces despite Zz'og's orders, and as they scattered into the ill fog the chorus of screams, violence and fel energy resumed its baleful song all around the Mo'arg. Zz'og spun about on his heels, trying to track the Illidari who seemed to attack from every direction, gripping his weapon tightly and trying to suppress the panic welling in his gut as his compatriots vanished into the cloud one by one.

Again, silence filled the cistern, interrupted only by the dripping of water and--Zz'og assumed--blood. The mo'arg twitched as a sound behind him got his attention and he spun about, slamming his wrench against the dais in the same motion with enough force to split the stone. He grunted in confusion when he realized all that was below his mighty blow was the splattered remains of an imp that had been hiding behind him, and set to lifting his weapon once more.

Before he could even strain to hoist the wrench up his planning was interrupted by two loud, successive POPS from behind that nearly deafened him and sent him stumbling forward, his body suddenly wracked by a reeling sensation. He looked down at his chest and saw two large, round holes blown out, and puked up a litre of dark blood on the dais as he collapsed to his knee with heaving breaths. In front of him lay two of his hearts, still beating and twitching on the stone, each covered in small mechanical devices designed to improve blood flow and oxygenation.

Zz'og grimaced as he heard the demon hunter walk around to his front and stared up at the towering night elf. The mo'arg glowered at the Illidari, his teeth stained with his own dark blood, his breaths haggard and long. The hunter looked down at him, his face obscured by darkness but his wicked, burning eyes threateningly present, as if taking stock or memorizing some aspect of Zz'og.

Zz'og's heaving breaths turned into a guttural roar and he lunged forward at the night elf. In the same moment he felt the Illidari's fist pass through his open mouth and out the back of his head--then he felt nothing at all.

Two days after his scroll was sent, Nixalegos would be recipient of a reply in the mail, penned in an abrasive but orderly fashion and lacking any kind of seal or literary formality.

"NETHERMANCER--

MISSION COMPLETE. TARGETS DISPOSED OF, NO ESCAPEES. SEEMED TO HAVE PLANS TO DRAW MORE DEMONS FROM AZERWRATH, WILL KEEP AN EYE ON TIME RIFTS AS PART OF MY USUAL DUTIES. ASSUME YOU WILL KEEP MORE THAN ONE EYE AS WELL. CAUSED REGRETTABLE DAMAGE TO CISTERN STRUCTURE/WATER STORES/PURITY DURING TARGET PACIFICATION. THUSLY PAYMENT RENDERED WAS GIVEN TO THE CITY TO HANDLE REPAIRS AND PURIFICATION WORK AS APOLOGY. WILL KEEP YOU ABREAST OF ANY FURTHER DEVELOPMENTS. BE WELL.

--CAEDUN"

tags: @nixalegos for mention/prompt

#writing #caedun #illidari #demon hunter #kaldorei #night elf #mo'arg

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